


Take Shelter: Chapter 3 Liberation Day (No-Smut Edition)

by gizkas



Series: in the spaces [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9275297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizkas/pseuds/gizkas
Summary: The non-smut version of Chapter 3 (Liberation Day) from my fic Take Shelter.





	

**Chandrila, Hanna City.**

It’s been some time since he’s shaved. Cassian stands in front of a mirror in the refresher, dipping his razor into a cup of water and bringing it to his throat. He holds it there, scraping up. Dips the razor again. Repeats. The movement grounds his thoughts, helps him keep focused on the task at hand.

 

He trims his beard, mustache, the small patch under his lip. Sunlight begins to stream in from the viewport of his room, causing his eyes to slightly squint and the bags underneath them to become more pronounced. There’s a bruise healing on the corner of his forehead, yellow and sickly looking, from where a bounty hunter had butted him with a blaster rifle. The split on his lip from captivity on Cloud City is healed, but he can see the pale edge of a scar underneath the dark hair of his beard.

 

Cassian is used to staring at his own reflection without passion or thought. It was strategic, as an Intelligence officer, to learn your own reactions. He needed to know what he looked like when he was happy, sad, angry, so he could mimic those expressions on call. Cassian knew very well how to lie to himself.

 

But there was no denying that the face looking back at him is far from celebratory. The eyes are too dead, the lips pressed too tightly.

 

Expression flat, Cassian puts down the razor and begins to fasten the shirt of his military dress, oblivious to the fact that he’s missed a spot.

 

\--

 

They’re calling it Liberation Day.

 

Cassian thinks it’s presumptuous to celebrate a treaty before the delegates have even met, let alone establish a holiday. But he’s on leave for the express purpose of making a showing at the event. Mon Mothma had insisted on having representatives from all branches of Alliance service present.

 

Today’s supposed to be historic. Cassian is not optimistic. Judging from the soldiers he’s seen, he thinks the sentiment is shared. They’ve all seen too much of this fight for them to believe it’s over just because some Imperials want to draw accords after the defeat at Kuat.

 

But still, here he is. His shirt’s pressed, his sleeves are neatly rolled underneath a fresh jacket. Boots are polished as much as he can get them, his hair is combed. If this is what will help the Rebellion move one step forward, it’s a small sacrifice on his part to launder a shirt.

 

At least there was the good sense not to have the talks on the military base. Instead, they’re occurring in the heart of Hanna City at the Old-Gather House-- an objectively beautiful location, with polished marble halls and brightly lit windows that allow for natural light.

 

He’d rather be anywhere else.

 

“Andor.”

 

Cassian’s focus sharpens on a man approaching him from the opposite direction. It’s been some time since he’s seen General Draven in person, an unfamiliarity increased by seeing the man in formal military dress. The blue edges of his collar are firmly starched, the color washing out his pallored skin from too many days and nights spent indoors.

He stands at attention. Draven nods, Cassian relaxes.

 

“She took you out of the field,” the General observes unhappily.

 

Cassian nods, following a natural half-step behind the General as the two of them make their way toward the audience chamber. “To represent the Engineer Corp,” he lies easily and naturally.

 

Draven snorts. “At least Mothma has that amount of tactical sense.” He sighs, looks up at the domed, glass ceiling. No doubt filing away the architecture of Mon Mothma’s home city as an attribute to her dossier. “I suppose it’s best to humor her in this.”

 

As they walk, Cassian takes note of the crowd. It’s a mix of military and politicians, soldiers and civilians. The only thing shared among the spies, diplomats, and merchants is a blanket sense of exhaustion. Few look actually happy to be there, and even that idealism seems to be edged with wariness.

 

 _War takes a lot out of people_ , he observes dryly.

 

“For the record,” Draven growls under his breath as they approach the heavy doors to the hall where the accords will take place, “I don’t like this. Having representatives from the top divisions of the Alliance in one room?” He shakes his head. “Keep watch. Don’t let anything past you. It’s not enough to rely on the Senate Guardsmen and Special Forces for this-”

 

Cassian’s heart seems to slow. “Which forces?”

 

Draven sends him an acidic look, and he wonders when he became so transparent. “It’s a sample platter of Madine’s people. SpaceOps, Infiltrators, UCS…”

 

“Pathfinders?”

 

The General’s upper lip pulls. “A few. Solo’s out doing Force knows what on Kashyyyk so they’ve been temporarily reassigned to other companies.” The man’s brows furrow. “Damned man is the reason we now have to babysit 100 prisoners of war on top of a peace concordance.”

 

Cassian is only partially listening. Instead, his eyes are scanning the rafters, the side halls. Looking for that familiar outfit of tan and green and brown. He almost misses the greeting when Draven gives it to someone standing near the door.

 

“If it isn’t Sergeant Erso.”

 

Cassian’s head snaps forward.

 

Jyn leans against the entrance, wearing a black flightsuit and failing to discreetly hide a blaster on her hip. Her hair is smoothed back into a neat bun, eyes clear of the smudged make-up he’s accustomed to seeing her in. Unlike others in the Gather House, she looks alert. Ready. Her eyes seem impossibly green and are glaring up at General Draven with barely restrained defiance.

 

He’s missed her more than he’s missed anything over the last month.

 

“Sir,” she allows.

 

Draven sends her a dismissive look before he strides past her into the chamber. Jyn’s attention turns to him. Her lips part slightly, her arms cross over her chest. They haven’t seen each other since Bespin. For once, Cassian feels at a loss for words.

 

Jyn swallows. “You’re blocking a Senator.”

 

He takes a step to the left. An Ithorian saunters past.

 

Cassian gives an amused shake of the head before he steps closer to Jyn. He leans down-

 

“You’d best go after Draven,” she says curtly.

 

He pauses, staring at her in confusion. “What?”

 

“The General,” Jyn tilts her chin to meet his eyes. “You’ll lose each other in the crowd, otherwise.” She smiles without any humor. “I hear it’s a big ceremony.”

 

Cassian frowns, before he looks around. No one is paying them any special attention, so he lightly grabs onto Jyn’s forearm and steers them to a side corridor. She follows without protest, but there’s still an edge to her expression that he doesn’t like.

 

Once they’re in as close to a private space as he can manage at an event like this, he hunches to meet her gaze. “Did something happen?”

 

Jyn sends him an imperceptible look, but it’s hard. He’s taken, suddenly and coldly, back to Eadu when he realizes it’s the same glare he received after the death of Galen Erso.

 

“Don’t let me keep you,” she says, dropping her arm from his. “I’m sure you’re expected somewhere important.”

 

The frown doesn’t leave Cassian’s face. “You’re upset with me,” he states. Observational.

 

“Upset’s a strong word,” she says in a forcibly light tone that only sounds bitter to Cassian’s ears.

 

“Over what?” He scans her face, looking for microexpressions or tells.

 

Jyn seems to realize what he’s doing, because she drops her struggling neutrality in favor of outright anger. “I spent _hours_ looking for you. All over the City!”

 

It doesn’t take Cassian long to draw the line. His fingers curl into his palms as he draws a deep breath in through his nose. “I was called back.” To assassinate another Imperial. “The window was small, there wasn’t time.”

 

“Or leave a message?”

 

Her question is sharply asked, and a handful of heads peer curiously in their direction. Cassian closes his eyes, steps forward, and lowers his voice as he tries to hold onto his patience.“It could have been compromised. The Cloud City network wasn’t fully scrubbed from Imperials.”

 

“You broke your promise-”

 

Anger, ugly and hot, rises in him. His fingers tighten against his hand, forming a fist that he keeps pressed by his side. He hears the darkness enter his tone and does nothing to mediate it. “You broke yours first.”

 

She leans away, upset but taken off-guard. “Only because _you_ -”

 

“I asked you,” he says tightly, “to come back.”

 

Jyn’s accusation dies, though her anger doesn’t. “What are you talking about?”

 

“On Endor.” Cassian clenches his jaw.

 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

He turns his head away in frustration for a moment, before he turns back to her. She’s still _glaring,_ still acting like she’s the only one who can…

 

“I saw the holorecording from Tayron,” he confesses with a dangerous softness.

 

Jyn tenses. He leans closer to her.

 

“You told that man to shoot you,” he snarls.

 

She bites down hard on her lower lip. He recognizes the gesture from when she tries to keep her chin from quivering. Her eyes are narrowed, and he knows that whatever comes next from her is retaliation.

 

“Jyn-”

 

“You _left_ me!”

 

Cassian stills.

 

Her hands are shaking at her sides, in their own fists. Her breathing comes in sharper now, and Cassian realizes his miscalculation with brutal clarity. They look at each other, angry and hurting in ways they never usually allow themselves to. He works his jaw, trying and failing to regain control over his temper. Jyn demonstrates no such effort, her body radiating open hostility.

 

There’s a scream.

 

And it’s a cold switch, that Cassian makes. The transition from man to soldier is seamless and efficient. He looks away from her at the sound-

 

And the scream happens again, this time in pain rather than shock. Then-

 

The sound of blasters firing in quick succession.

 

“The chamber-” Jyn whispers in horror.

 

Cassian nods, stepping back from Jyn and reaching under the back of his jacket. A small, handheld blaster unclips from the holster and slides into his palm. He turns to see that Jyn’s already pulled one from her hip.

 

“The side entrance has more cover,” she says neutrally, though her eyes are still red.

 

He gives her a careful nod. “I’ll follow you,” he whispers.

 

Jyn takes a last look at his face, before she turns and starts to run.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take him long to case the scene as soon as they arrive. Jyn runs and slides behind the cover of an upturned table, and he follows her. In the chaos of the room, no one notices two more players.

 

The audience chamber is riddled with carbon scoring and has transformed into a firefight. In a perfect row, Cassian sees the attackers. It’s the prisoners of war from Kashyyyk, all of whom stare ahead with synchronized, blank expressions and blasters tight in their hands. As guests of honor for the Liberation Day proceedings, they had been seated at a table close to Rebellion and Imperial officials.

 

Damn.

 

Cassian shifts his gaze to the other side of the room. There, he sees the bodies. A numb sort of horror grips him when he recognizes a few who have fallen: Mon Mothma, General Crix Madine. Commander Kyrsta Agate.

 

“Shoot the bastards!” He hears Draven’s voice call out from somewhere in the smoke.

 

Cassian aims his shots.

 

Jyn’s hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re not in their right minds!”

 

He knows. He also knows that it’s irrelevant now. Cassian meets her glance and shakes his head. Her face falls, but her fingers slide from his arm. A blaster round flies by his ear, sinks into the wall behind him. Cassian ducks down, pressing between Jyn’s shoulder blades to get her to do the same.

 

Cassian fires. Three of them go down without so much as a whimper. He swallows, takes aim again-

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jyn reach for her truncheons.

 

“ _Jyn_ ,” he warns.

 

“I’m not going to shoot them!” She retaliates.

 

“They’re not going to give you a choice!”

 

The prisoners take it as a challenge. A volley of blaster shots pepper the table. They crouch under cover, face to face, knee to knee.

 

“I can take them out without killing them,” she presses.

 

Cassian looks at her. The recording from Tayron plays in his mind. Whatever fears are settling in his gut are obviously able to be interpreted by Jyn, because her grip on the truncheons loosens.

 

“Cassian…”

 

His fingers tighten on the hilt of his blaster. “There’s about eighty armed prisoners left.”

 

Not good odds. There’s never good odds with them.

 

Jyn stares up at him. He looks down. His mind falls away to years ago, to the darkness of the elevator ride he assumed would be his last. Cassian remembers staring into Jyn’s eyes and understanding _loss_ in a way he never had before. He’d been prepared, then, to let go of something that had never started.

 

Now, he might have to let go of something else.

 

“I love you,” he says carefully. They are not quite touching.

 

Jyn’s face is stricken. “Thank you.”

 

Their fingers re-adjust their grips on their blasters.

 

He nods. Listens to the blaster fire around them. Counts for gaps-- there aren’t any. “Ready?”

 

Jyn exhales, and he sees that she is realizing the same thing he is. She stares at him for a second longer than wise, before she clears her throat. “Yes.”

 

Cassian leans forward, presses his forehead to hers. Then he straightens-

 

“ _PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS_!”

 

His eyes widen. To his side, Jyn tenses.

 

“Set to stun, shoot!”

 

There’s another set of blaster volleys. Cassian counts them, before he risks breaking cover and looking over the edge of their makeshift barricade.

 

The last of the prisoners topples over.

 

He turns to Jyn in disbelief. She laughs, dry and harsh and _alive,_ and tosses her head back.

 

A flood of Senate Guardsmen pour into the room.

 

\--

 

After it ends, after they’re questioned, and after they report to their superior officers, they, along with other Alliance military personnel, are escorted back to the Rebellion base where they are instructed not to leave the planetside until after the investigation has been completed.

 

He waits until they are close to his temporary quarters before he stops and turns to Jyn. They aren’t alone in the corridor--several soldiers are running back and forth, a few more are sluggishly waking up and preparing for third shifts--but they might as well be. Her forehead is streaked with an oil stain, her hair coming loose from the bun that had been so tidy only a few hours ago. Cassian’s body is near trembling with adrenaline, as shock wears off and something else takes its place.

 

He hasn’t forgotten their earlier exchange in the corridor, and he doubts she has either. But for right now, that moment seems distant and inconsequential. Something that can be delayed. He watches her for a short while that isn’t long enough, his breathing coming in shorter and his chest pounding.

 

It’s not enough. It’s all not enough.

 

Jyn seems to understand, if not the meaning of his halt, its intention. She steps closer, arms moving up to hook around his neck. Her callused thumb is rough against the base of his head and it sends a jolt of hunger down his spine. He hears the dull scrape of her boots coming to stand on the inside of his own, feels the heat of her front pressed against him.

 

Cassian brings a hand to her neck, lets his thumb brush her cheek and land behind her ear. With an easy movement, the hand slides up into her hair and he leans down to kiss her. Jyn’s lips are chapped but warm, her mouth is eager under his and so he lets the contact become desperate. His arms wrap tightly around her, hands grasping the sides of her and not letting go for anything.

 

It doesn’t matter that this is in the middle of a Rebellion base. That there are soldiers sending them curious looks. There’s only one thing Cassian allows to hold his attention in this moment and it’s the woman in his arms.

 

Jyn’s arms fall from his neck and slide to his chest. Her palms are hot through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, and she gives him a light push. He follows her instruction, breaking the kiss and taking a half step back.

 

Her eyes flicker up, the pupils slightly dilated. “Where are we going?”

 

Cassian reaches past her head, and pushes a console button on the nearby wall. The door behind her slides open with a light puff of air. Hands still on his chest, Jyn backs into it, and he follows-- the door sliding shut quietly behind them.  
  


 -- 

  
It’s not just about the sex. He feels as close to her when they’re standing in the same room. Fighting together. Sharing a drink. Anything she does only pulls him in closer-- because Jyn Erso is a stubborn, heavy force in the center of every space she occupies. 

After, he brushes back a piece of her hair. She smiles.

For right now, Cassian Andor is just a man grateful for time spent in her orbit.


End file.
